Seen in 2019, Kazan and Budd Schulberg's satire on the power of TV, the corrupting force of fame and the crossover between celebrity and politics is like seeing an early documentary about the possible link between smoking and cancer. The message is so familiar, so obvious to us now that you have to constantly adjust your perception and remember that this was something of a revelation when it was first shown. The film charts the meteoric rise of a folksy raconteur Lonesome Rhodes (Griffith) from local radio personality in Arkansas to nationwide fame and political influence. As a study of American culture it is a mix of the all-too-understandable, and aspects that remain impenetrable to outsiders.

We start with an East-Coast-educated radio researcher Marcia (Neal) in a small town in Arkansas arriving at the local jail to try and get some of the inmates to contribute to an item called A Face In The Crowd. In for drunk and disorderly, a vagabond Lonesome Rhodes (Griffith) does a song for her and ends up being a regular on the morning show dispensing stories, jokes, songs and bits of the old homespun wisdom. The public lap it up and he skips from local radio to local television to nationwide TV and heading up a media empire run from his penthouse suite in New York.

For a character who becomes adored for being so straightforward, Lonesome Rhodes is a different figure to get a grip on. He's supposed to be a good ole country boy but his music is more bluesy and the adulation he inspires from young ladies is on an Elvis scale. Rhodes is based on figures like Will Rogers and Andy Godfry, names that mean nothing over here. At one point a bit part character says he never knew what people saw in him and we definitely get that. He doesn't really seem to do anything much which would seem to be a weakness in the script until you get to thinking about the number of celebrities – proper old school stars, not reality ones – whose exactly talents remained nebulous. Even now, has anyone really offered up an explanation for what exactly it was that Bruce Forsyth did?

Andy Griffith is an American institution. After this film, which flopped when it first came out, he went on to become a huge TV star in the sitcom The Andy Griffith Show. It is one of those American Institutions like I Love Lucy or Johnny Carson that I've frequently read about but never seen: apart from Bilko, US sitcoms from that era rarely made it across the Atlantic. His show is famous for launching the career of Ron Howard who appears in as his adopted son. After that he was Matlock.

As Rhodes, he is more Voice than Face in the Crowd. He has a bellowed laugh and shouts a lot of his line. But that works for the role and any film by Kazan and Schulberg is never likely to give it to you gently. Kazan uses close-ups of his guffawing mouth to indicate to us that Rhodes is not to be trusted. As you expect of an "issue" film from that time there are lots of fine speeches to delineate the author's view, usually delivered by Matthau. We're never quite sure what Marcia sees him but Neal's performance is compelling. The final hour in New York is filled with smart people despairing in darkly lit sets. It's like Sweet Smell of Success without the fancy talk.

Possibly the film doesn't quite know what to make of Rhodes. What we see of his performances don't convince us that this is someone who has his finger on America's pulse, who will enjoy unwavering success. The film doesn't just have the public lap up his every move, but also the establishment. He tells all the advertising executives how to do their job and then begins to coach politicians on how to get their message across to the American public. All this and he has dynamite sexual charisma that means women throw themselves at him. He even invents a canned laughter and applause machine. Given all that, which he manages while being permanently half cut as there's always a bourbon bottle at arm's reach, is it any wonder he becomes something of a demagogue? His powers are almost Godlike; just uncouth Godlike.

Supplements

New interview with Ron Briley, author of The Ambivalent Legacy of Elia Kazan